Are You Now Or Have You Never Been
by AlreadyPainfullyGone
Summary: Two weeks after Swan Song, 2014Castiel is removed by God from a future that will never exist. Returned to the present he tries to redeem himself in the only way he can, by returning to Jimmy's family. But Dean could change that. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

The night Dean wakes up to find an angel staring at him is his thirteenth night spent with Lisa. Sam's been dead for two weeks. Castiel's been gone for two weeks, less an hour. Bobby's been back home for thirteen days. That's how long his perfect life lasted, two weeks.

He's almost glad.

"Cas? What do you want?" He slides out of bed, careful not to wake Lisa up in the process. The room is almost totally dark. The only way he has of knowing that the man standing over him is Castiel is his distinctive silhouette against the light in the hall. When he follows the angel out onto the landing and into the light he gets a shock.

It's Castiel, but the wrong Castiel.

The Castiel he last saw preparing to enter a building crawling with demons and Croats, preparing to die. He watches him, waiting for the shock to pass. He's still wearing the same faded jeans, thin shirt and canvas jacket, still has the same unshaven face and unkempt hair. For a second Dean thinks it might be a nightmare, or worse, a demon in disguise, but he has the house fully protected. And all his nightmares feature Sam.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, I had nowhere else to go." He says finally. As an afterthought he adds. "I see you trapped Lucifer."

"How are you here?" Is all he can think to say, to be fair it covers what he's feeling, and he has just woken up.

"You prevented the apocalypse Dean. Now the future, my future, never happened. Angels, even powerless fallen angels, can't just be blinked from existence." He's talking quickly, intensely and for a second Dean wonders why this surprises him. It takes a moment to register that Castiel isn't high, he seems sober, just human.

"My father is apparently very forgiving...and existent, which came as a surprise." His expression is still one of bleary misery but without the unfocused look he had last time they met. Definitely not stoned then, great.

"He resurrected me, and sent be back here so that I can redeem myself."

"Wouldn't it be better to just let you rest? I mean, everything that happened to you, you'd think he'd just let you ...oh." Dean get's it. Castiel nods.

"As a rule fallen angels tend not to get into heaven."

"That sucks."

"Agreed."

Dean leads the way downstairs. He finds the situation odd, sitting on the couch in a t-shirt and boxers opposite a fallen angel-junkie from the future.

It's almost like having his life back.

"So, what's the last thing you remember?" He's really hoping Castiel blacked out or something, or was maybe to out of it to remember his death. The look in the other mans eyes squashes his optimism.

"Bleeding out next to Chuck." He says quietly. "That's when I felt God, it's been years since I felt anything of his presence and then there it was. Right at the end."

"I'm sorry." Castiel just shakes his head. Dean decides to change the subject, if only by making it awkward in a different way.

"You seem more...aware now."

"By that I assume you mean I'm not stoned?" He almost smiles. "I'm clean, I think."

"Good, you were a little scary, just so you know"

"Thanks." The almost-smile is replaced by a familiar frown. "I'm not particularly proud of myself for that, for the things I _remember_ anyway." He pauses. "I'm sorry that you witnessed it."

"Cas..."

"No, I am. I should have..." another wave of bitter self-loathing flickers behind his eyes. "I should have done a lot of things differently."

"It doesn't matter now." Not as comforting as he would like, but then Castiel saw through lies fairly well. Even well intentioned ones. "So, redemption? Any plans on that?" Castiel's face sets itself and he looks determined suddenly, grimly so.

"Yes, whilst the Castiel who belongs here is occupied with heaven I will try to redress the balance of what he's left behind."

"Uh...in English?"

"You'll understand later."

And Dean does. The next day Castiel asks to borrow some money, not a lot, just enough for 'essentials'. Dean gives it to him, explains his presence to Lisa as best he can and offers Castiel a place to stay. He's gifted with the first genuine smile he's seen on Cas, ever. But it dies quickly as the former angel tells him he has somewhere he needs to be. When he leaves with the money, promising to return to say goodbye Dean still doesn't quite understand.

That evening Castiel returns, beardless and with neatly trimmed hair, his old clothes discarded. He's wearing a new suit, a blue tie and a trench coat.

Dean finally gets it.

"Do you need a ride?" Castiel meets his eyes and Dean sees the tiredness there, and the determination to go through with this, to do the right thing. Or what he believes is the right thing.

He drives him all the way to Pontiac, Illinois. Leaving just as Amelia Novak opens the door to her husband.


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow, quick response there __ I haven't written anything I liked this much since 'Human' so I'm glad other people seem interested. In reply to the review, I know Chuck wasn't there in the episode but I liked the idea of Castiel dying with God, so he wasn't alone exactly? And Chuck was a convenient way to do that. Anyway – on with the update._

It's easier than he expected.

Although he doesn't feel like Jimmy, neither does he feel much like himself. He knows enough about Amelia and Claire to not give himself away. The thing that surprises him is that he genuinely cares for them. He cares about all humans, obviously, but these two more so than the rest. He doesn't love them in the same way as Jimmy did, but he can offer them genuine affection.

It's more than he thought he was capable of.

Life without the Croatoan virus takes a little getting used to. It's been around ever since he became human and now that everything's normal he finds it strange to be without the constant danger. Other things take him by surprise, the abundance of toilet paper, the genuine pleasure he takes in non-rationed food and even his own contentment. He's fortunate that Amelia, like Jimmy, is not overly fond of alcohol. There are certainly no drugs to be found either, which allows him to relax.

He's happy to be with the Novaks. They seem happy enough with him.

Amelia knows he isn't Jimmy. Or rather, she knows but doesn't know that she does. All she's aware of is a slight feeling of distance between them. She attributes it to the strangeness that they've gone through over the last few years. Castiel understands Claire far better than he understands Amelia. He's been inside her head and remembers enough of the experience to relate to her.

Sometimes he wonders how Jimmy would feel about this. He'd probably hate him, even more so than he does for Castiel's irrevocable possession of his body. But then Castiel remembers the presence of Jimmy inside his head, right up until the angels left. Jimmy hadn't mourned his own slow fade into death. Most of his time had been spent offering Castiel the comfort he could find nowhere else.

The one thing he can't reconcile himself with is the obvious consequence of sharing a bed with a woman he is supposed to be married to. It feels almost like a betrayal to even sleep beside Jimmy's wife, let alone further compound his offence with greater intimacy. As much as he wants to comfort the two people who meant the most to his vessel he almost (almost) leaves when he realises the extent of what he has taken on. Thankfully Amelia does not initiate more contact than a sleepy embrace. The distance she can feel, as well as the broken nature of her and Jimmy's marriage, allow little in the way of desire.

Other than his unwillingness to deceive Amelia, he has other reasons to baulk at the idea of sex. Not least of which is his desire to avoid all ties with his former addictions.

Castiel soon becomes aware however that his feelings on the subject have changed radically since his days in 2014.

Although his experiences at the camp should have broken him completely to the concept of sex, he now finds himself unnerved by it. Without drugs or alcohol he can't hide his reticence to engage in it. It occurs to him that he believed himself to be free of his awkwardness; it almost amuses him to find that he is still in some respects virginal.

In truth he's glad to find there is any innocence left in him at all.

The one thing he differs from Jimmy on is that he still prays. He says grace before eating, prays privately as he lies in bed. He prays because he knows exactly how much he owes God. He prays because he's thankful, truly deeply grateful that God saved him, that God allowed the world to be saved.

Though despite himself, he mostly prays for Dean.

He prays nonsensically for the Dean who will now never exist, who will never lose his brother to Lucifer as completely as he lost him before. Who will never torture again, will never shoot a man in front of his comrades because he_ might_ be infected. He won't die underneath Lucifer's foot, looking into the face of his brother. The Dean who sent Castiel to his death is gone.

And he mourns him.


	3. Chapter 3

Even though he knows he's helping the Novaks just by being there, Castiel's feelings of guilt intensify. He's deprived them of their father and husband, taken his body to do God's work and ended up trapped inside it. Using it in all the wrong ways and for all the wrong ends.

He's failed Dean, his Dean, by allowing him to lose himself. Praying for the soul of a man who has never existed brings little comfort. Castiel knows that Dean would not forgive him for allowing the apocalypse to happen. Would not forgive him for the way he ended things, stoned, drunk and waiting for the end. He mourns the fact that neither of them had enough time to turn things around, that neither of them could fix themselves in time.

He's also failing himself. The still angelic version of himself that is currently in a heaven he can't quite remember anymore. Fighting for God. Angels are supposed to fight against evil, not impersonate ad salesmen in some pathetic attempt to make amends.

The voice in his head that tells him these things sounds a lot like Dean. The Dean who died.

In the end, three months into his life as Jimmy Novak, Castiel realises that he needs help. He calls the only person he knows in his current time, knowing that, as bad as it is having Dean inside his head telling him he's worthless. It will be a thousand times worse in person.

He makes the call from his cell phone, sitting on a park bench around the corner from where he works, an office like any other. Dean picks up after only two rings.

"Ca...uh, Jimmy?"

"You don't have to call me that, I'm not there." He knows Dean is just being cautious, worried that Claire or Amelia might pick up the other line and hear them. Being deprived of his name hurts more than he thought it would.

"Ok, how's it going?"

Castiel sighs, hearing the static buzz on the line.

"That bad huh?" Dean pauses, his next words shock Castiel out of his dulled state. "You want me to come up? I could use an excuse to get driving again."

"Yes, that would be..." He grimaces. "Amelia...she may not like the idea of you staying here, not after the last time she saw you." He can almost hear Dean's wince.

"I'll get a motel."

"Then that will be fine. Great." He amends.

"Alright. Should get there tomorrow evening, I'll call you."

"Thank you Dean."

"No problem Cas."

Castiel meets Dean at his motel the next evening. The hunter, or rather, the ex-hunter, has dropped his bag on the floor and is midway through his first beer when he knocks on the door. After he lets Castiel in Dean sits back down on the bed, Castiel takes the single chair opposite him. It's the first time he's seen Dean in a single motel room, not only is Sam missing but now the space set aside for him is gone as well.

"How are Lisa and Ben?" He asks because he's genuinely interested, but also because it's shorthand for any and all other queries about Dean's life now.

"They're fine, good actually." Dean frowns at the half peeled label on the beer bottle, takes a swig. "It's just weird you know? After everything that happened, I never thought this would be my life." He looks up. "Not that...you know, in a good way..."

"I understand." And he does.

"So, how's life as Jimmy?"

"It's good. Better than I'm used to."

"Less Croats and more church fundraising?"

The joke barely raises a smile. It's surprising, even to Castiel, how quickly he's lost the easiness with which he used to laugh or smile. Admittedly it wasn't through any kind of humour and was mostly related to narcotics. He still misses it. Dean seems to notice the change as well, watching him with a slight frown.

"Everything ok with the Novaks?"

"As well as can be expected." He sighs "I fear I'm a poor substitute."

"They're lucky." Dean insists. "Not many angels, hell, _none_ of them would do what you're doing."

"Thank you." He means it, that's the first good thing that's been said of him in years. He's forgotten that Dean used to believe in him.

"Well it's true, can you imagine Zachariah or Raphael looking after Jimmy's kid? Taking care of his wife? No way." Dean coughs and looks slightly uncomfortable. "Cas...don't take this the wrong way but...you and Amelia...you haven't..." He winces. "Dude if you make me say it..."

"I won't, and no, we haven't."

"That's gotta be an issue though? How are you dealing with it?"

"Hopefully I'll never have to 'deal with it'."

"It is a little freaky." Dean cracks a smile to break the tension. "But if it comes down to it, remember who you're supposed to be. Amelia didn't seem the orgy type, so rein in the hippy moves, ok?" He pauses, manages to subdue his smirk and finally glances at Castiel, who looks utterly miserable.

"You ok?"

"Yes" Castiel says, body language telegraphing _**No**_ so hard it's almost funny.

"Cause' the last time I saw that expression I was out two-hundred bucks to a chick called Chastity."

Castiel actually squirms.

"I don't get this, I know you've done it before, hell if I'd walked into that cabin ten minutes later..."

"I wasn't myself then."

"Oh"

Just 'Oh' but it's enough. Dean digests this information for a second. Castiel waits in silence feeling shame more acutely than before. Telling someone who still respects you despite all evidence that you don't deserve it, that every time you've ever had sex you were too stoned or drunk to remember, was not an experience he relished. It hadn't bothered him at the camp, mainly because he'd been out of it all the time. He'd never had to look at things in the sober light of day.

When Dean looks up at the former angel he sees that he's looking at the bottle of beer in his hands with miserable _need. _He can't help it, he twitches the bottle out of site. Castiel catches the movement and his eyes flood with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine Cas, you didn't do anything wrong..."

"I've caused you to drive miles away from your family because of my own problems." Castiel's stare intensifies. "Problems entirely of my own making."

"Cas...it's not your fault, ok? You're trying, recovery and being someone's dad and someone's husband...it's a lot. Believe me I know." He catches Castiel's look. "It's not that I...it's just...Lisa thinks I miss hunting, that by being with me she's depriving me of something. Which is crap." He shoots Castiel a look as if it's him that suggested such a stupid thing. "I'm just not there yet, with the suburban thing, I thought it'd be easy, you know? But...I don't know man, she keeps looking at me like she's worried. She thinks I'm miserable."

"Are you?" The bluntness of the question catches him out. He was expecting some kind of agreement, or just an assurance that it needed time. It's what Sam would have said. Instead Castiel is looking at him carefully, just trying to get to the truth, hoping it will help.

"I thought I was hiding it better." He huffs out a breath and smirks. "We're screwed up, you know that?" Castiel half-smiles.

"It gets easier."

"Really?"

"No Dean, I was lying." The belligerent expression is one he recognises from Castiel's appearance in the town ruled by the whore of Babylon. "I really have no idea."

He looks him in the eye and Dean sees the bone deep weariness there. It really hits him then, Castiel is old, as old as the earth they're on. Almost as old as God himself, wherever he is. Castiel should have been finished millennia ago, should have found some kind of peace. What does he have now? Memories of lifetimes of soldiering in God's name, an addictive personality, thirty more years as Jimmy Novak and then Hell. Castiel will spend eternity on the rack if he can't make amends for his one mistake.

_Until he breaks._ Thinks Dean. _Then he'll become a demon._

The idea freezes something in his stomach, makes his skin prickle with angry heat. Castiel broken down to the level of Ruby.

"Dean?" it's almost a whisper, the small space between the chair and Dean's seat on the bed means that he hears it perfectly. For a second Dean feels the urge to shift the necessary foot towards him and...he has very little idea what he'd do, what notion he does have is unnerving. He wants to offer Castiel some measure of closeness, the connection that Amelia and Claire get from him but can never return. The connection he almost has with Lisa. It manifests as a powerful, sudden desire to seal their mouths together. When Castiel speaks he struggles to think of a reply.

"Do you need a ride back to Jimmy's?" Is what comes out. Castiel looks momentarily wrong footed, then guesses that Dean needs to be alone and so shakes his head.

"No, I'll be fine." He stands, realises that he didn't remove his coat when he arrived. Dean mirrors him, getting to his feet and awkwardly following him to the door.

"Bye Cas."

"Goodbye Dean."

Dean collapses on the latest in a long line of beds that aren't his own. Whatever prompted him to want Castiel, and _want_ is the only word he can think of that sums it up. Whatever it is stays with him. He can feel how much he wants to go after him, how much he wishes he'd just grabbed him. But Castiel has enough problems without supposedly-righteous-men throwing themselves at him. Dean focuses on the thought and uses it to squash the aching, _wanting_ feeling that refuses to leave him.

Because he'd rather die than cause Castiel any more pain.


	4. Chapter 4

Later he'll have a lot of time to wonder how tonight could have gone differently. Right now all he can think is that Dean is suffering, unhappy with Lisa and too hung up on a promise he made to Sam to do anything about it.

Castiel makes it home just as Amelia is getting ready for bed herself.

"Hey, where'd you get to?" She's smiling, already in her blue pyjamas and just for a second he forgets that he's wearing a dead man. That her smile isn't for him at all.

"I went out for a while." He shrugs out of his suit jacket, starts working at the knot in his tie. Not for the first time he wishes for his own clothes, worn out as they were at least he could relax in them. Amelia's smile softens and she steps towards him, hands batting his away from the tie.

"You'd think after all this time you'd be better at this." For the first time Castiel understands what Dean meant by personal space. It was always an odd concept, that there was an aura of space around someone that other people shouldn't breach. Being immaterial he'd never encountered it before. Now he felt that Amelia, her upturned face very close to his own, was too close. It made him uncomfortable. She finishes with the tie, slides it from beneath his collar with a tug, lays it aside. Still she doesn't move away.

"Jimmy..." She drops her hands to the top button of his shirt, smoothes them across to his shoulders.

He'd thought when this moment came (and why tonight of all nights?) that he'd feel the wrongness of it keenly, even through his own paralysing awkwardness, his awareness of sin. Instead a kind of resignation goes through him. For a few minutes he kisses Amelia, feeling her hands on his back, letting his own drop to her waist. He remembers, hazily, encounters from the camp. The relief he feels is the same, the brief warming connection he'd once sought compulsively. For a second, no more than that, he relaxes into it. Amelia pulls away first, breathless, tugging him lightly towards the bed and whatever it was that got him through the kiss deserts him.

He can't do this. Not with Jimmy's wife, not with anyone. Later he can try to understand why but right now he just wants to leave. Gently he disengages Amelia's hands. She looks at him carefully, not angry, just curious.

"I'm sorry, I just..."

"Jimmy I get it" She strokes his side gently. "Everything that happened to you...no one's expecting you to be the same. We're just glad you're back."

Without another word she gets into bed, leaving him to finish undressing and climb in beside her. A while later he feels her lapse into sleep. They've slept like this every night since he came back, his arm around her waist, head resting at the nape of her neck.

When he finally gets to sleep he dreams, a relatively new experience he sometimes enjoys. The dream is dark and has no images in it. It's a feeling, the brush of skin against his hands, a scent he can't place but which causes a stab of sharp arousal he didn't think he was capable of. The dream shifts focus, heat floods over him, a body moving on his, a voice in his ear.

A voice that jolts shock through him, followed by a wave of attraction so strong he arches in his sleep.

"Cas..."

The scent intensifies. It's Dean. The odd scent of the impala, old leather and smouldering traces from a hundred salt and burns. A combination of sweat and blood and the sweet greasy air of diners. He can't help the urge that brings his hands to touch the skin that presses down on him. He can't tell if the moan is imagined or his own.

Halfway between waking and dreaming he realises that the skin he's caressing is Amelia's. That in his sleep he's reached for her, waking her up and turning her responsive body towards his own. Already they're entwined, Amelia's mouth lightly pressing against his neck. The warmth that the dream brought to him recedes suddenly. He swallows hard and pulls away, disentangling them.

"What's the matter?"

"I..." the clock offers a perfect excuse. "I have to get to work."

Amelia smiles ruefully.

"Hurry back." She presses another kiss to his mouth, then rolls over and settles back to sleep.

As quickly as he can he gets ready, shoves on one of Jimmy's many suits and leaves the house without any intention of going to work, not now. He wanders aimlessly, or at least he thinks he does, it's not until he reaches his destination that he realises his body has been making the decisions for him.

Five hours later he knocks on the door to Dean's hotel room. He's forgotten that Dean sleeps heavily and late whenever he gets the chance. When he finally makes it to the door he looks dishevelled, groggy and slightly pissed off. His expression changes when he sees who woke him.

"Cas?" The other man leans heavily on the the doorframe, tie loosened and hair spiked up in odd directions.

"Dean, can I come in?"

And if he didn't look completely dishevelled, if Dean couldn't smell the whisky on the former angel from a distance...it would almost be funny.


	5. Chapter 5

The bar is a new experience, used as he is to drinking requisitioned liquor in his cabin. It's not crowded, it's six in the morning after all, but it's also not a nice place. But then to be open at six in the morning it would have to be a...

_Den of iniquity _

The though makes him smile, mainly because he's nine shots into his bottle of paint-stripper whisky and anything is enough to make him smile. He got the first couple of shots down quickly, before he could change his mind. He doesn't want to think about this, falling off the wagon, giving up, he just wants it _done_. The faster he falls the quicker it's over. And he should know, he's fallen slowly before and has no desire to repeat the experience.

The stuff tastes awful, as foul as he remembers; nevertheless he has no trouble getting it down. What with the apocalypse, the looting and the shortages he found he could drink almost anything. As long as it got him drunk quickly. Every time Amelia appears in his thoughts he drowns her out with another mouthful.

He can't deal with it. Could never deal with it. With anything at all. Trying to prevent the seals from breaking, trying to find God, to stop Lucifer. Even keeping it together while he waited for the inevitable shockwave to wipe the camp off the map. He'd failed consistently, continuously in his duty to both the garrison and Dean.

And Jimmy, Jimmy who'd listened to him, believed that he was giving up his body to help with God's plan. He'd witnessed every failure, every setback and ever single moment Castiel weakened. When he supported Dean, contrary to his orders, when he allowed himself to feel as much as he was able. Then later as his presence slowly waned, he felt every doubt, every handful of pills.

Jimmy had helped God. Castiel had helped himself.

The thoughts swarmed him, drowned out the awful bar, the steady thrum of the alcohol circulating his body. Black depression mounted, the kind he hadn't felt since the latter days of his fall.

By the time he runs out of whiskey it's barely ten o'clock. He left the house without breakfast, there's pure alcohol in his stomach and he's just about together enough to realise he can't return to Amelia and Claire in the state he's in. His options are limited. He knows only one other person in town. Dean. Much as he hates the idea of Dean seeing him like this he has nowhere else to go.

The first thing he does after dragging Castiel into the room and sitting him on the bed is to get him some water. The second thing he does is yell.

"What the hell were you thinking!" Castiel gulps water blankly.

"You want to go back to Camp Chitaqua so bad, fine, I'll drive you. You can scare the kids away and get back to killing yourself." The empty glass clinks against the floor as Castiel sets it down. "You do not do this to them, or yourself again, you understand me?" He snaps, taking the glass, refilling it from the rusted faucet and passing it to him again.

"I didn't intend to return to the Novak's in my current condition." Even totally hammered he still manages to look belligerent. Dean snorts to himself, tugging at the former angel's shoes. Castiel frowns down at him. "What are you doing?"

"You're not taking your drunken ass home 'til you've got to sleep it off here."He drops the shoes to the floor, watches as Castiel lies back on the tangled mess of blankets and sheets. He's incredibly pale and still doesn't look happy, let alone like his former giddily intoxicated self. He also looks so tense he might break in half at any minute.

"You ok?" he finally asks.

"No" Castiel mutters, eyes already closed.

He waits. Nothing.

"Anything I can do?"

"Not really." Dean sighs, Castiel is not a talkative drunk, figures.

"You gonna tell me what happened to you? Yesterday you seemed pretty sure this would never happen again." He indicates Castiel's sprawled, drunken form. The other man is almost asleep, which, combined with the alcohol, is probably why the next statement slips through his defences.

"I nearly slept with Amelia this morning." He shifts uncomfortably on the bed, brow creasing as he seeks a better spot on the lumpy mattress. "I was dreaming..."

Dean starts backing out of the conversation, he can guess what's coming, hell he's been there. Dream gets mixed up with the person next to you – next thing you can't look Sam in the eye for a week. If Castiel dreamt about some woman from his orgy days and started something with Amelia...well he'd be feeling pretty terrible if it'd been him.

"It's ok man...I'm gonna go get some breakfast, I'll be back soon ok? But if you throw up..."

"...about you." Castiel speaks under him, stopping him midsentence.

"What?"

"I thought it was you." His eyes are open slightly, revealing a slit of blue beneath a frown of confusion. "Dean..."

"I'll be back soon." He repeats numbly, then bolts for the door. On the short walk to the diner he shakes his head roughly, there's no way, _no way_ that he heard that right. Castiel did not just tell him he'd had a sex dream about him. It had to be the booze.

He doesn't realise that he's talking to himself until the waitress at the diner looks at him funny. He quickly snatches up his order as soon as it's ready and hurries away from the building, despite the fact that he really doesn't want to go back to the hotel.

He's so busy trying not to think about Castiel that he forgets to call Lisa.

The other man is asleep, curled on his side, when Dean opens the door. Almost sighing with relief he inches into the room and shuts the door as quietly as he can. The only chair in the room is covered in gear, his bag and the weapons he brought just because he needs to be ready at all times. He can't move it without making enough noise to wake Castiel.

He ends up on the floor, back against the box spring, eating pancakes from a Styrofoam container whilst Castile sleeps off that morning's binge. Whatever the other man is going through, Dean knows he isn't handling it well. Drunk at ten in the morning was a state Dean could empathise with, he'd been there himself.

The difference was he hadn't had a kid and a wife depending on him.


	6. Chapter 6

He wakes up late in the evening and immediately wishes he hadn't. His head aches and makes the room feel like it's tipping slyly at the edges, nausea rockets through his stomach and his mouth feels like its never known water. Heaving himself off the bed he nearly falls onto Dean, who's sitting next to him on the floor with his laptop across his knees. Grimly he gets to his feet and sets two bottles on the bedside table.

"Water. Tylenol ." He unscrews the cap on the bottle of pills and hands Castiel two, and the bottle of water.

"Thank you." He croaks, downing the medication without hesitation.

"Yeah well I was gonna let you suffer, but I can't yell at you while you look like that."

"Like what?"

"Like no one should be yelling at you." Dean almost smiles. "You look like crap."

Castiel closes his eyes with a grimace.

"Not to mention that you reek." Dean screws up his nose. "You smell...well... like a drunk, Cas. After the yelling I think you should take a shower before I take you home."

"I'm sorry" Castiel murmurs.

"You slipped up, it happens." Dean drops onto the bed next to him. "But this is the last time, you can't do this to yourself every time you feel..." He has no idea how to describe how Castiel might feel. Guilty, ashamed, pointless and more. "You're better than this, ok? And Claire and Amelia need you to stay sober. You already took Jimmy away from them, don't bring him back just to let them think he's an alcoholic."

"That was not my intention." He takes another swallow of water. "I just don't seem able to stop myself, not that I thought I could."

"Cas..."

"I am failing, Dean. Perhaps it would have been better had I not returned. Amelia would have perhaps... moved on... if I had not intervened."

"You're saying if you hadn't popped up she'd be dating by now?" Dean suppresses the urge to hit him. "You...you've met Jimmy right? Him and Amelia, they're more religious than you, and you've met God! You really think all she needs is a year to get over her husband and start bringing random guys home?"

Castiel winces at the sudden volume increase.

"Cas you seriously think that just because you can't...that's not the only reason they need you around, why are you getting all hung up on it?"

"Because it's important to her." He sighs, setting the water aside. "It's important to everyone, and it's one of the things humans never stop thinking about...and I can't ignore it." Dean looks at him, struggling to understand. "You took me to see a hooker Dean, it seemed fairly essential to you."

"So you think..."

"So I _know_" Castiel cuts him off. "I just don't know what to do, especially now that I almost..." His head shoots up from where it's been resting on his hand. "I told you." His eyes have gone completely round, startlingly blue despite that mornings mini-bender.

"Yes." He wants to make a joke, but he can't think of one.

"But you..." His frown deepens. "you shouldn't be here."

"What? You thought I'd freak out and leave you here?...why are you looking at me like that?"

Castiel looks half confused and half cautious, like he's expecting a punch to the face any second now. The other mans eyes fall closed in another wince of pain and his voice lowers a few octaves, the words a barely audible growl.

"Last time you threatened to shoot me."

"What?" Dean freezes, mid smirk. Castiel stiffens, realising what he's just said.

"Nothing"

"Cas you suck at lying, tell me." Castiel heaves a sigh and his face suddenly looks worse than before, not just hung over but drained, reminding him that despite the lack of weird smile and the stink of patchouli, this Castiel had a history with him which he knew very little about. None of it good.

"I was...out of it, predictably, and you were there, drinking...I...forgot myself for a second."

"You made a pass at me?"

"...would imply you didn't kiss me back, which you did." His expression is bitter but resigned, like he expected nothing better. "Then you hit me, called me a fag and said you'd shoot me if I ever tried anything again."

"You kissed me."

"Dean..."

"And now you're having dreams about me?"

"I did worse things with...a lot of people. I was out of control, especially in that last year. I could have spent the night with Chuck for all I know." He's deathly serious.

"And you never cared about any of it? About any of them."

"Of course I...I wasn't completely apathetic."

"That's a no Cas, just so you know. You slept with God knows how many people and you never cared about them, specifically?"

The other man just sits there in his crumpled suit, taking the accusation without flinching, like he deserves it. Dean calms down, loses his anger almost instantly.

"I saw future me, he was...scary doesn't cover it. I watched him kill someone without batting an eye, he sent you to die and tortured..." he struggles with that, the idea that he would torture again. "and you still kissed him. That's a big risk to take on someone you don't care about."

The blue eyes fixed on his are the steeliest he's ever seen them. This is Castiel belatedly locking him out, like only the angel can. His face is immobile, no sign of any emotion whatsoever. If Dean didn't know better he'd think all his grace had come flooding back. But it hasn't and it won't. Cas is human for good, has been for years, most of which he spent on the edge of the end of the world. For the first time it occurs to him that maybe that wasn't the only reason for Castiel's slide towards addiction.

"Cas" The weight in his chest intensifies. The awareness of Castiel's suffering coupled with shame at the actions of a man he will never be. He reaches for Castiel and kisses him. For a second, a long, worrying second, the lips under his remain immobile, the body unresponsive. Then Castiel moves, kissing him back suddenly and with more desire than Dean thought he was capable of, arching up towards his body. He lets his hand fall to the bed on the other side of Castiel, trapping him between his arms as he leans into him. Feeling Castiel's hands on his back bringing him closer. He pulls back only when his lungs begin to burn.

Castiel looks...gone, completely and totally, gone. His breathing is shallow, his eyes glazed and his lips already slightly swollen from the force of Dean's mouth on his. Dean can't imagine he looks any more together. He lets one of his legs slip between the other mans, bringing their mouths together as he presses Castiel down towards the bed. He tastes mostly of whisky and cheap whisky at that, but he can't really complain. Not with Castiel's long fingers pressing across his shoulders, his body shifting underneath his with barely contained frustration. Dean snakes a hand between them, palming him clumsily and eliciting a hoarse groan as Cas bucks against his hand, seeking more contact.

They're tangled like that for a few seconds before Castiel's eyes widen in panic. A hand catches his wrist, pulling his hand away as Castiel sits up, forcing Dean off of him.

"Dean..." He's still almost panting, swallowing hard before he continues. "Don't..."

"Sorry...I thought you...you seemed ok with it." It takes him a second to realise that his hands are shaking, which is all kinds of weird.

And it's the look that Castiel gives him, a mixture of anguish and want, that finally, _finally _makes the penny drop.

"We've already done this haven't we?"


	7. Chapter 7

Something he'd learnt from Dean a long time ago – a half-truth always beats a lie. Even though as far as _this_ Dean knew Castiel _couldn't_ lie. The admission that he'd kissed his future self was enough to distract him from any further questions. Ashamed as he was of all the things he could barely recall, it was nothing compared to what he could remember.

He'd been in isolation, a close run in with some Croats had ensured that, though at that stage he'd been certain Dean would just kill him. Risks were not something he was prepared to take on Castiel, not anymore. But instead he'd just shoved him the cage where the demons went for torture, and left him for three days.

After one he would have shown symptoms. No one came to check. Only Chuck who brought food every five hours or so and who had little sway over their fearless leader. It took the ex-prophet (because everyone was an ex-something those days) three days to make Dean listen to him. To finally explain that locking Castiel up meant that he had crashed straight into a nasty withdrawal.

It took slightly longer for Dean to do anything about it. Of course, anyone could have brought him any of the bottles of pills that littered his cabin, but no one dared. It was Dean who brought him the tablets, late on the third day. The state he was in was still a cause of painful embarrassment. Shaking and sweating, propped against the wall and enduring some of the worst aching cramps he'd ever experienced. Dean threw the bottle through the bars without comment, followed by a half bottle of something clear. After a few mouthfuls he realised it was rum, but he ignored his disgust. It wasn't like there were other options.

While he popped a few of the pills and took a few more swallows of the liquor Dean watched him. It was a look that made him uncomfortable and he'd received it often, though less and less as time went by. As if Dean was measuring him against what he used to be. After a few seconds Dean produces his own bottle of whatever they've looted recently, dropping his gaze from Castiel to unlock the cage door. He steps inside and sinks to the floor. With his back pressed against the wall he takes a few swallows, grimaces, then turns back to the ex-angel.

"What?" Although the drugs are taking effect, he's not feeling as mellow as usual, though thankfully the cramps are dissipating. So it's possible he's just a bit sharper than is wise. Dean's hardened expression moulds itself seamlessly into a scowl.

"What the hell happened to you?" It's only now that Castiel realises how drunk Dean is, that those last few mouthfuls are chasing at least another bottle as they speak. He would be worried, drunk Dean is unpredictable and armed as usual. But the blissful cloudiness of intoxication has swept away most of his defences.

"Nothing _happened_ to me." He feels his own face break into a 'what the hell' expression. Because it's true, whatever he is now it's something he's done to himself.

"Because you were always this fucked up." Dean sneers disbelievingly.

"Probably" Castiel lets his head fall back against the wall, eyes closed. He really can't bring himself to care. Dean shifts next to him and somehow moves closer. Castiel can feel their shoulders brushing every time one of them breathes in. He relaxes into it, even though he knows he shouldn't. It's second nature to him now, seeking contact where once he avoided it unknowingly. The last few days have been hell and right now he just wants to feel better. Dean huffs a breath beside him, takes another long drink from the bottle.

The pills have taken full effect; Castiel's gladly relinquished the last of his awareness to them. It helps that he's been clean a few days, they work better then. The cage is suddenly not as terrible as it seemed before. Everything is clearer now, but also blurred into one – he's going to die, die and go to hell and die always, for all eternity. But for now, for these last days or months if he's lucky, he can still feel _good_. The last thought he forms before he twists and catches Dean's mouth with his is – _Why not?_

Dean kisses back almost immediately. Roughly, insistently and unlike any of the encounters Castiel can remember. Even though his mind is moving slower than his body he's aware this may not be the best idea. In fact he knows this is going to shatter any faith Dean has left in him. Still, when Dean's hands move under his shirt, when he rolls Castiel onto his front and presses him into the floor, he goes bonelessly, willingly enough.

He thinks he enjoyed it.

He definitely remembers Dean's weight on top of him, the initial burn of his first thrust. His own moans, slightly choked because his face was buried in his arm. Dean gasping against his ear, leaning closer to growl, "You smell like a fucking brothel Cas" in disgust. Then the familiar burning, building pressure of his own orgasm. So he supposes he did enjoy it, enough at least to remember it.

Maybe it's because it was Dean. Or perhaps just the fact that he'd been at least partially sober for the first time in years.

The rest is the same as he's told Dean, the Dean from the past. Well, almost the same. Dean didn't just hit him, he hurt him badly enough that he was laid up for two months, broken ankle the least of it. He'd called him a fag, he'd threatened to shoot him if he ever tried anything like that again.

It happened twice more that Castiel can remember, more than that if the mess he sometimes woke up in was any indication. He was usually high, Dean, because it was always Dean who came to him, was almost always drunk. It never occurred to him to refuse, not that he refused anything then. Dean didn't hit him again, and he usually got off, which was something anyway.

A half truth is always more effective than a lie. So when Dean asked him if he'd cared about any of the people he'd slept with he hadn't said no. He wasn't apathetic, and despite the occasional pain and the shame that his various other vices never quite deadened, he had cared about Dean more than the other, nameless encounters.

Dean just hadn't felt anything for him, in fact saw him as worse than Risa or any of the other women he slept with. Because with them it was just sex, it was almost expected.

But he never stopped looking at Castiel like somehow he expected better of him.


	8. Chapter 8

"What did I do to you?"

He's getting the distinct impression that Castiel is somewhere else, remembering someone else. Except he isn't. Dean tries to hold onto that thought though his reflex is to push it away. Bury it somewhere no one will ever find it.

It was him. Or at least it would have been.

And he needs to know exactly what he did to make Cas this way. Because the guy sitting next to him with his shoulders hunched over like he's trying to disappear, who's innocent and wary of sex until he's completely out of it...is not the angel who pulled him from perdition.

He's not even the man who fell to earth on a shrimping boat.

He's just one more thing Dean Winchester has ruined, just like he let Sam become so twisted, just like the roadhouse, just like he got Jo and Ellen killed and Bobby crippled. But this is worse because it's _Cas_, it's an angel and he's so obviously broken, right down to his damned soul.

"_To_ me?" It comes out quietly."_With_." Castiel stresses. "I was high not unconscious."

"You wanted me to..." Dean shakes his head. "How did it happen." He's asking like he's asking about an assault. Castiel can't imagine where his mind has gone, or rather, he can, and that's what saddens him. Dean knows himself enough to guess at what he'd become if he had to live through that alternate history. "Because I can't imagine you wanting me."

He can actually see Castiel frantically trying to edit together a version of events that won't cripple him.

"Cas...don't lie, please."

"Dean..."

"Please." And he looks so adamant, so desperate, that Castiel dredges up the truth. Even though he knows it will hurt himself all over again, and Dean. Because even after everything he can't say no to him.

Dean listens to the whole thing. Cas's eye occasionally close, his hangover suddenly surging past the effectiveness of the painkillers, other than that he stares fixedly through the wall opposite. Not once does he look at Dean.

He tells him about the Croats, the cage and his withdrawal. About how Dean came to see him only after Chuck begged him to. How he'd sat with him. That their shoulders had touched. How he'd been drunk, that Castiel, high after the sudden influx of meds, had kissed him. That they'd had sex on the floor. That Dean had told him he stank like a brothel. Had finished, beaten him within an inch of his life, and threatened him. Left him for Chuck to find.

Then the other things.

The two months of being laid up while the camp moved on.

Then the times he could remember Dean coming to him. Once in his own cabin, empty of women for a change, but still untidy enough to provoke a frown of disapproval. He'd walked in, closing the door behind him. There'd been a minute where Castiel had just frozen, they'd watched each other. Then he understood. After the first time neither of them spoke, not before, certainly not after.

And thankfully not during.

The only thing Castiel had done then was tug on the belt of his too big jeans, slipping them off as Dean crossed the room. He kept the details hazy on that one, there'd been the sex obviously, but other things as well. Things that would almost certainly make Dean think twice about kissing him again.

He wondered why that bothered him.

The second time came after a number of blurry mornings where he'd woken sore enough and soiled enough to know _something_ had happened. Something he must have agreed to at the time. They'd been in the storeroom Dean's past self would one day be handcuffed in. It ran the same as their other encounters, Castiel pressed to the ground, hands and knees biting the concrete. Dean moving, not making a sound save for the odd grunt or groan. Afterwards he'd jerked him off, as an after thought, leaving him to clean up while he went back to running the camp.

After that, bar a few more blank morning-afters', Dean's attentions stopped. Castiel didn't know why, had assumed Dean was bored of him, or else too disgusted to lower himself to sleep with him.

Now he wonders if Dean was ashamed.

The thought bothers him, because if it's true he can't make it right now. That Dean is dead, and was never alive to begin with, now. He can't tell him that he understands, that he remembers how hard it was, just being alive in a time like theirs.

Dean listens to the whole story, inferring a few things that Castiel is glad he didn't have to vocalise. That Dean was the first and only man he'd slept with (at least in memory, though he was fairly certain nevertheless). That Castiel had slept with him willingly, had wanted him. Had taken the roughness as nothing more than Dean being himself. Had in fact tolerated a lot and given a lot in return.

Dean can't understand how, and when Castiel has finished, he say's as much.

"How can you...I mean you called me, you came here and..." Castiel almost misses the words, Dean's voice has become so quiet. "How can you stand to be around me?"

"Because I didn't hate him. I don't hate you."

"You should." The edge in his voice is directed at himself.

"Probably." Castiel's sigh tapers into a groan. Wordlessly Dean hands him more painkillers, easing him back until Castiel is lying on the bed again, watching him closely. Dean takes the other side of the mattress, sitting with his back against the headboard. Castiel lets the silence lie, Dean clearly needs time to adjust to what he's learnt. After a while he slides down the bed, lying next to Castiel carefully.

"I'm not him Cas"

"You kissed me." It's not an accusation, it's the opposite. His tone changes the words, meaning _I know you're not ._Because Dean's never kissed him before. Castiel kissed him, the first and only time, privately believing that's why Dean hit him afterwards. After the first time he can put enough together to know they did everything, including some things he'd prefer never to let Dean know about. But not kissing, never again.

"You kissed me back." He wonders why Dean looks worried. "How could you..."

"Because I wanted to."

"You shouldn't"

"I've done a lot of things I shouldn't of." Castiel turns to him, their face only inches apart on the stiff hotel pillows. "Why are you here Dean?"

"What are you..."

"You promised Sam you'd stay with Lisa and Ben. I called you, yes, but you didn't have to come. "

Dean is silent for a second too long, Castiel regrets starting this, reaches a hand towards the other man's side, but freezes. He has no idea how Dean will react, does even know if he _wants_ to touch Dean. Something made him push him away before, he has no idea what part of him panics at the idea of Dean touching him, but it's there all the same.

After a while Dean moves closer, as close as he can get without actually touching Castiel.

"You called me Cas. I had to come." His breath prickles at his ear.

They fall asleep like that, Castiel through exhaustion, Dean because he can't remember the last time he felt this relaxed. Weird as their relationship might be, he still wants it. He still wants Castiel to be there when he wakes up.

But he isn't.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean waits three days before he drives over to Jimmy Novaks home.

Three days in which he heard nothing from Castiel. Three days in which he didn't phone Lisa. He didn't do much accept eat, watch TV and sleep. The phone was always on, always charged. Nothing.

It took two days for him to realise he was sleeping on Castiel's side of the bed.

Just eight hours and he already had a side of the bed.

Of all the reactions he'd expected from Amelia Novak, relief wasn't one of them. When she opened the door her face was tight with worry and she looked about as well rested as he was.

Castiel had been missing for three days.

Amelia said four days, but Dean knew where Castiel had been on that first day. Drinking 'till he'd lost his protective coolness, and then pressed, writhing, underneath Dean in a motel room, a thought that wouldn't leave him alone. A thought which, coupled with the imagined warmth of a lithe body next to his, had sent him into intense, entirely too pleasant dreams. Dreams which left him aching and cold and shamed by the need he and Dean of 2014 seemed to have in common. A need he had attempted to manage on his own, because the last thing Castiel needed was another person who wanted something from him.

Castiel had pretty much admitted to being used by his future self for sex. Used and discarded and broken by the whole mess. And then he'd run off, then he'd been taken.

The trail was frustratingly, worryingly, cold. He couldn't help but remember the last time, the only time, that Jimmy had returned to his family. It had been made very clear that he would never be safe. That his family would never be safe as long as he was around.

Why hadn't he seen this coming? Why couldn't he keep Castiel safe?

After a few hours frantic searching Dean parked his car just off of a crossroads on the outskirts of town, got out and stood by the door.

There were literally no alternatives, but if Castiel was alive, he was going to hate him for this.

_If he was alive. _

Dean closed his eyes, ran a hand over his face and dredged up the best words he could find.

"Cas...I really need some help here."


	10. Chapter 10

Even though he hasn't appeared as a human in months, it takes fewer than ten seconds for him to recognise this feeling. The twist in his stomach that indicates guilt, the fear that makes his chest ache. It's the same as it was the previous year, a year of ever increasing emotion, tension and the dire need to see it to the end.

Though of course, when the end came it was just another change. Not the end at all.

Even now he can barely feel it. It's just a memory, his human self like a phantom limb. Emotions he can no longer produce but can vaguely recall.

So Castiel answers Dean's call, but not out of any kind of feeling. He does it because it's Dean, and for the past two years his existence has depended on acknowledging Dean's input into his actions. Their lives depended on it. Now it's the same as his half dead emotions, twitching with the last little bit of life in them. Making him act as if he's still falling, or fallen, when in actual fact he's neither.

Dean needs him.

And he's forgotten what that feels like.

He's been watching, naturally. Dean may have set himself up with Lisa and Ben and the life he's never had. But Castiel wasn't naive or hopeful enough to think he'd stay there.

Not that he saw _this_ coming of course.

The arrival of _himself_ of all people, a self he never realised was open as a possibility, had surprised him. A little observation and some careful forays into the mind of this other Castiel were enough to convince him he was lucky to have been killed by Lucifer. He can't imagine (and not just because he isn't endowed with an imagination) experiencing even half of what Castiel remembers.

Or the rest.

Because the memories that are clouded to his human self are not lost. Just harder to access, harder to read.

But Castiel has infinite time and patience, not to mention a vested interest in finding out about any new comer to Dean's life. In case they should prove dangerous or subversive as some who have gone before. Ruby for example, was someone he should have kept watch on.

Castiel has learnt from his past failures.

Not that this other Castiel proves dangerous. Quite the opposite.

Were it in him to feel sympathy, or empathy come to that, he would undoubtedly be crippled with pity for him. Instead he can only offer the love he has for creation, for every broken and crippled thing, loved exactly the way it is. Which is more than he's received in the past.

But Castiel see's the two of them, Dean avoiding a family he can't force himself to fit with, Castiel avoiding his past and trying to sacrifice his _self_, even his _name_, to make amends with his former vessel.

And they match.

Objectively (which is after all, the only way he can look at things) they are unquestionably suited. Two people so broken down by what they have endured, by what they have seen and done and lost...that they have only each other. And for two people who need so much to _be needed_, that's enough. More than enough.

Seeing them together, his other self just sobered enough to respond to Dean's advances. It doesn't disgust him, or indeed make him jealous. Instead a mild interest flickers in his mind. The lingering effect of being human and close to Dean.

He wants this for himself, just not for the self he currently possesses, it's for the other Castiel, the _human _Castiel, that he wants to secure these experiences.

So even though he answers Dean's call out of habit.

Even though he knows he can't feel for Dean or the other Castiel.

He goes, because he wants to.

And want is an entirely new concept for his newly restored self.


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel flickers into existence beside him on the deserted stretch of road. He looks exactly as Dean remembers, and yet wrong somehow. It takes him a second to realise that he's become used to the humanised version, the way his face moves and the way he looks _connected_ to the body he's in, aware of its flexibility and tactile nature. This Castiel wears Jimmy Novak like a shapeless suit.

"Dean" He intones by way of greeting.

"Cas, I need...God I don't even know where to start..."

"I'm aware of the situation." He continues to stare at him seriously, sombrely awaiting Dean's reply.

"You...you been watching me, Cas?" Instantly his brain flashes up every guilty moment he's sought relief from his need for Castiel. And then in impossibly dark and stark contrast, that moment he had Cas pinned to the bed, the slick feeling of a willing mouth under his. And Castiel was watching from Heaven.

Like it couldn't get worse.

"Ok, whatever..." He squeezes his eyes shut with embarrassment and then pushes past it. Cas needs him right now, no time to waste on his own shame. "I need you to get me to him, ok? I need to get him back."

Castiel gives him a long, long look. Then traces a pale hand over the door of the waiting Impala, tugging it open. Dean opens his own door, settling into the driver's seat and secretly glad Castiel remembered he hates being 'popped' around.

"Do we have time? To get there like this?" He asks suddenly.

"We have time" Castiel assures him, staring out of the rain spotted windshield like it's the most absorbing sight in the universe.

"Is he ok?"

"The demons have taken him to a holding place. They believe him to be a vessel, and of considerable worth." He says it all in long ponderous sentences, as if retrieving the information from elsewhere. Then he turns slightly, fixing Dean with a stare of less intensity.

"They will not harm him, not greatly."

"Real comforting" he manages, hands tight on the steering wheel.

"He will survive." Castiel insists sternly.

"He's good at that."

There's a long uncomfortable silence. At least, for Dean it's uncomfortable, Castiel probably doesn't notice.

"You know, don't you?"

"Know what?" He isn't avoiding the question, just seeking clarification. Castiel knows many things. Including almost everything about Dean, and the _almost_ is mostly a courtesy on his part.

"About Camp Chitaqua."

"Yes"

This time he perceives the silence and fills it as best he can.

"I feel for him"

Dean takes a hand off the wheel, runs it down the non-responsive flesh of Castiel's arm, earning him a questioning look.

"No, you don't" Dean lets his hand fall away, watching Castiel's face as his eyes betray the lie, told adeptly but with little conviction. Because Castiel feels nothing. "I'm sorry Cas."

The rest of the journey passes in silence. Dean is torn between his desire to reach the man he knows is in danger, and his need to comfort the angel next to him who no longer feels and can't muster enough emotion to lament that fact.

But now he knows, they aren't the same. The Castiel who kissed him, slept beside him and told him the darkest things he knows of himself – is not Castiel, angel of the lord. He's a different man, and Dean finds the thought weirdly soothing. Because a man he can deal with, he can help.

He has no idea how to go about helping an angel.

Castiel leads him to a warehouse. Dean parks the car. Castiel disappears inside and does something that makes the windows light up with fractured flares of grace. When Dean enters the building there are unconscious bodies everywhere, but no demons.

Castiel, still dressed in the crumpled, whisky scented suit from three days ago, is lying on the ground. His hands and feet are tied up, there's a hook hanging on a chain above him. Presumably he was hanging there until recently. There are superficial cuts and nicks in his skin, but when Dean gently eases his shirt up he finds deep bruising.

He lifts the unconscious man up, feeling the reassuring warmth of him soak through his clothes and into his skin. Angelic Castiel follows him back to the car, but makes no move to get in. Dean lays the beaten man on the back seat.

"Thank you" He turns towards the other man, but he's gone.

He drives Castiel back to the motel room, gets him onto the bed and does what he can about the damage. The bruises are amazingly ugly, splashed across the otherwise uniformly pale skin.

He calls Amelia, promises to return her husband tomorrow once he's rested. Tells her that he's fine, listens to her cry with relief on the other end of the line.

Amelia loves the unconscious man on the bed, without complications. Wholeheartedly, unreservedly, loves him.

She just thinks he's something else, someone else.

Castiel blinks awake just as Dean's kicking off his boots, settling himself for a night on the floor.

"Dean?" He tries to sit up and winces, lowering himself gingerly back down to the bed.

"I'm here Cas."

"Oh" he's still on the edge of consciousness, probably more than a little concussed. "What happened?"

"Demons"

A very unangelic snort. "Figures." He blinks, registers the hotel room, the fact that he's safe now. "You found me."

"I had help" he doesn't want to lie, not to Castiel, never again. The other man is silent, clearly reasoning it out.

"Oh" and this time it's pitched lower, cracking with shame.

"I'm sorry, it was the quickest way to find you."

"I understand." And he does, but it doesn't make it easier.

Somehow Dean finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over the prone body of a former angel. Because his life is weird, because somehow even without his grace, he still has a pull about him. Something that catches the hunter and drags them together. In hell, at the end of the world, in tacky motel suites.

He lays an arm carefully over Castiel's bruised chest, settling himself beside the slight, sleep weighted body. His mouth is pressed close to the pale skin of Castiel's throat, dark hair shifting softly against his forehead. A hand closes over his, holding him in place, the weight moves sleepily and chapped lips graze his, pulling back a little.

"Dean" And it's final, a sleep blurred sigh.

"I'm here" he says, for the second time, allowing himself to sleep only when the other man's breathing evens out and he relaxes, boneless, against him.


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel wakes up alone. But then he's used to Dean, all Deans in fact, not sticking around once he's gone to sleep. The sight of the figure in the chair opposite the bed, awkwardly bunched into its borrowed trench coat, is more surprising. He hadn't expected the other Castiel to return.

The fact that he knows Dean better than he knows himself is similarly neither comforting nor particularly surprising.

Two sets of blue eyes, nothing alike, meet across the room. On one side grace and angelic will, on the other, weariness and hard won knowledge. It's safe to say neither of them look particularly happy with the situation.

"So...how's reforming Heaven going?" he asks, trying to ignore the fact that he sounds abrasive and not entirely unlike Gabriel. '_How's the search for Daddy going?'_

"It is a difficult undertaking, one that will never truly end, I feel." His other self states, as if he's talking to Sam or Bobby and can't give away too much. The _it isn't for you to know_ tactic. He remembers that one. He can't think of a response anyway so Castiel's words just hang there until he replaces them.

"You are having difficulties."

Which is an understatement, but then perhaps it's just Castiel being a little rusty on human speech. Enochian would really be a better language to use, if he hadn't lost most of it during his time at the camp.

Then again maybe he's always been this bad at dealing with messy things like people and their breakdowns.

"Yes."

"Assuming the role of...our, vessel, was not the purpose for which you were returned."

Which is news.

"I have a purpose?"

"You believe you would be hauled from the brink of perdition and set back on earth with nothing to accomplish?"

"So what is it?" he says, louder and sharper than he intended. The other him frowns in genuine confusion.

"I thought you were aware, it's been our" he stresses _our_, linking them together carefully. "purpose since we assumed our vessel."

It hits him with a sudden sharpness, cutting through the dull ache that usually exists in _that _space. The place which used to be filled with orders and rules and prophesy... and which was slowly taken over by Dean. Dean and protecting him from harm, from loss, from his destiny as decreed by Zachariah.

He's here for Dean.

The other Castiel seems to take his silence as confirmation of his understanding, which is good because he couldn't speak right now if his life depended on it.

"I plan to return Jimmy to his family, you should consider yourself under no obligation to go back to them."

"You won't be able to leave Heaven." He feels numb, knowing how painful that would be for him, not understanding how Castiel can even consider it. Only knowing that 'Heaven' isn't heaven, it's just the absence of everything else. The other man dips his head once in acknowledgement.

"There is no reason for me to return, now that Lucifer is caged." He seems to consider, awkwardness twitching over his face. "The continued use of this..."

"Jimmy" Because it matters, acknowledging that sacrifice.

"Of Jimmy Novak" Castiel corrects himself with an expression of unpleasant surprise at his own lapse in empathy. "Is making it difficult to resume my former state."

_Jimmy makes me feel things._ Is what Castiel hears. _Things that aren't mine to feel. _And he understands, knows that he's given up everything that he'd acquired during his time on earth. Everything that belonged to him alone. Castiel didn't go home, he just reenlisted.

The only comfort is that even if Castiel is aware of how hopelessly, helplessly unfair his position is, he won't, can't hate himself for choosing it. Simply because he can't feel anything. And maybe Heaven needs him. A tiny part of him hopes that it's true, that Castiel's sacrifice is worth something to someone besides himself. Because Castiel's given him Dean.

"Lisa" he says suddenly, catching the other him in another bottomless stare. And if he had any shame left it would flare at the way his voice nearly cracks on the realisation. "Dean's supposed to be with Lisa".

The other him just watches him, waiting.

Because Castiel belongs with Dean, he was sent there by Heaven itself.

But Dean's belonged with Castiel ever since he raised him, marked him and then fell to save him.

And it shouldn't have taken an emotionless, clueless, socially uninterested version of himself to point that out. But it has.

The sound of wings unfurling vanishes just as Dean pushed through the motel room door. He's clutching two cups of coffee and peering cautiously at the man sitting upright and alone on the dingy coverlet.

"Hey" he sets one cup carefully beside Castiel and manages to withhold a look of surprise when he moves over, wordlessly making space beside him for Dean to get back into the bed. "you feeling ok now?"

"Almost"


	13. Chapter 13

_Well here it is, the end. I hope it hits all the right notes and doesn't disappoint anyone, it just about did it for me. And thanks to everyone who reviewed, you're the reason this actually has an ending._

Jimmy and Amelia Novak renewed their wedding vows a month after he returned. The ceremony was small, a few mutual friends, Amelia's parents and one or two work colleagues. If any of them cared that the gathering was held in such an out of the way corner of the neglected church, they made no comment to the couple.

Jimmy had already told Amelia everything he could remember of their time apart. That conversation had taken a long time. From the moment Castiel had released him, on his own lawn in front of his own home, until he and his wife had fallen asleep on the couch. He told her about the end of the world, the moment he had blinked out of existence as Castiel became human, about knowing through the angel, that someone else was taking care of his family.

Although he'd lost some of his love for God and all associated beings, Jimmy had been too far inside Castiel's mind not to realise how aggrieved he felt at breaking up his family.

Neither of them could hate Castiel for assuming Jimmy's role.

And so they held the ceremony that re-established their marriage underneath the tiny figure of 'Castiel, angel of abstinence and sorrow' knowing that all they had experienced in their years apart was not his fault – but that their reunion was entirely down to him.

Castiel stayed within Heaven for a very long time. Not forever as he had thought, but ,long enough for the world to change and change again. It was centuries after the death of Dean Winchester before he set himself inside a vessel again.

Reordering Heaven took time and a great amount of sacrifice and effort. Though Castiel was a soldier and used to such things. He was rarely absent from his duties, focusing wholeheartedly on the restoration of an order he had once believed in.

Without the presence of Jimmy Novak he lost the last worrying dregs of feeling. For a long time, longer than any human mind could comprehend, Castiel felt nothing, save for his devotion to his cause and his absent father.

After that time had passed, leaving Heaven more or less regimented once more, and Castiel to maintain the workings of the Garrison, a change came about. It was slow to become apparent, but gradually the returning warmth of emotion reached a place it had never occupied before.

For the first time in centuries Castiel felt loved. Undone by the sensation of being unconditionally, irrevocably held by the affection of another being. For the first time in all the time since his creation Castiel felt the overwhelming presence of what he had been designed to love.

He became the fifth angel of all those created, to experience God.

There were a great many things to suffer through before they could come close to happiness. Castiel's experience at Camp Chitaqua remained as a kind of barrier between them, a catalogue of memories he could barely explain. Dean was still reeling from the last few months, from the phone call he finally made, in line at a diner, waiting for coffee. Telling Lisa he was sorry, that he was never coming back, at least not to stay. She understood, and left Dean wondering what he'd done to deserve someone like her.

Maybe it was a 'saving the world' deal.

He still has no idea what he did to deserve Cas.

Lying on the bed together, sipping the hot, and not entirely crappy brew, Castiel frowned slightly.

"You bought me my first cup of coffee." The way he says it leaves Dean in no doubt that they're talking about the other Dean, and not himself.

"Really?" A non-committal prompt, whatever Castiel is telling him it's the first memory he's willingly shared. The former angel nods.

"Really. A few days after I fell. Sam was busy, we had breakfast at the diner near the motel." His voice is small, but awed, as if he'd forgotten such a good, normal thing had happened to him.

Dean lets his free hand stroke the shorter hair at the nape of the other mans neck.

"And you..." he looks Dean in the eye, "You took me to get new clothes, you taught me how to shave..." He smiles, a small smile but it's there. "Five years and you never stopped teaching me stuff. How to shoot, how to swear, how to drive..." Dean kisses his jaw carefully, softly, smelling like coffee and feeling stubble rasp against his mouth. Castiel's hand rests against the back of his head, absently petting him as Dean moves his mouth down his throat. He feels Castiel swallow nervously, but the other man doesn't pull him away.

"After Sam" he says quietly "what happened after Sam, it wasn't you... none of us were right." Dean wraps his arms around the slim, still bruised body beneath him and kisses him carefully on the mouth. Castiel kisses him back, light fingers stroking gently at his face. He pulls away, looking slightly surprised and almost...new, broken open and comfortable and something clenches in Dean's chest because he did that. He let Castiel out of whatever hell he's been in.

The former angel's mouth is barely touching his own, blue eyes fixed on his when he says, "I think I've been in love with you, for the last five years of my life." Softly, almost surprised by his own words. Dean kisses him again.

Because he's never been good at this stuff, but he wants to give Cas something of what he feels for him. He knows that the other Dean, the Dean that showed Castiel what it was to be human, to be alone and afraid of what it is you want, would have told him. Would have loved him if he hadn't lost Sam. If he hadn't been convinced that loving someone gave them that much more power to hurt you.

If. Would. Might. Should.

Didn't.

But it isn't too late. They're both still alive, both a little broken but not enough to matter.

And the world isn't ending.


End file.
